


Juletræ

by Dulcinea



Category: Metallica
Genre: Fluff and Angst, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-22
Updated: 2015-12-22
Packaged: 2018-05-08 09:53:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5492921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dulcinea/pseuds/Dulcinea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lars and James celebrate Christmas together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Juletræ

**Author's Note:**

> Written as a gift for roses, as part of 2012's A Very Kinky Rockfic Ficmas Fest. The prompt was 'James,Lars (Metallica): Decorating a Tree.'
> 
> Set post-TBA tour, 1993.

“You want to go _where_ for Christmas?” James said.

“Hawaii,” Lars said.

James laughed and shook his head. He served their lunch—burgers from the stove—onto two warm buns. “Great place for a _winter_ holiday.”

“Why not? It’s warmer than SF, and it’s not like it’s any different than Christmas in LA.”

“Sure.” He reached for the lettuce and tomatoes, situating them on top of the buns. “But Christmas is supposed to have, you know, snow? Cocoa, fireplaces—traditional stuff.”

“Fuck tradition.”

James rolled his eyes. Fixing some Sun chips on Lars’s plate, Utz on his own, he asked, “So what would you do in Hawaii, do the luau and eat a lot of roasted pig?”

“Hell yeah. Get a fucking nice suntan too while I’m at it.” 

"Right. You want some red onion on yours?”

“I’m good.”

James picked up some sliced onions, pickles, spread some mayo and finished his burger first. “Mustard or mayo?”

“Mustard.”

He finished spreading mustard on Lars’s burger when he heard something drop onto the table behind him. James frowned, looking over his shoulder—and froze.

A blue paper pamphlet rested in the middle of the table, with a package on top. A flat, rectangle package with wrapping made of palm trees and cartoon happy suns. 

When he stepped away from the stove and came closer to the table, he found two tickets in the pamphlet. Two first class seats. Two different last names. 

He looked up again, met Lars’s eye, and found a gleam there that almost broke his resolve. Almost.

“I have to go see my relatives.”

“It’s booked the day before Christmas. Night flight, so we’d arrive on Christmas Eve. That’s more than enough time to see your family.”

“How long…”

“Until the New Year.” Lars’s eyes lowered. “If, uh, that’s okay.”

He picked up the package. “And this?”

“Just something I bought. For the occasion.” He shrugged. “Don’t know if it’ll fit, so...”

A few rips at the packaging revealed a white paper box, something he’d find used for clothes. He took off the top, laying it on the table, and found inside a purple Hawaiian shirt, with brochures for private beach villas and casitas on different Hawaiian islands.

“I didn’t want to book anything until, well—” Lars cleared his throat. “Yeah. So.”

He placed the box on top of the table, pulling out the Hawaiian shirt. Lars’s worried eyes met his for a moment, before he turned his attention back on the shirt. 

“Looks to be about my size,” he muttered, folding it over his arm. 

“Yeah?”

He looked at Lars, picked up one of the brochures—and smiled. “Yeah.”

Lars grinned back from ear-to-ear. 

**

Maui was the perfect choice for both of them. There was enough shops and art galleries for Lars to explore and splurge money on, and there was enough privacy around their beachside villa for James to relax. He didn’t see Lars for most of the day. He barely settled down into their villa before heading off and out for the day, off to spend money on clothes, souvenirs, rich food, and the like. So he occupied himself with what he could. Napping, reading, sunbathing, watching TV, dipping his feet into the ocean water, and it was relaxing. Soothing. Something nice, like Lars said. Something different. 

As much as he enjoyed the tropical paradise, by midday, there was still something missing. It didn’t feel like Christmas to him. Just another vacation. Another pretty place, spending the money they accrued after the last album.

Alone. 

By sunset, he had enough of the pretty view and the private villa, and he headed out towards the local markets for something to eat. 

He passed by a few fish stands, fruit stands, buying an apple to munch on as he looked over some souvenirs. He walked on a bit more, politely declining a few invitations to buy some food or trinkets, until he saw a stand that caught his attention. 

A row of small plastic Christmas tree stood lined up in front of the wooden stand. Inside the stand were various Christmas ornaments and furnishings. Candy canes, ribbons, bulbs and more.

James reached down and picked up one of the tiny plastic trees. He met the eye of the older woman on the other side of the counter. “I’ll take this one.”

There was still no Lars when he returned to the villa. All he heard was the ocean waves and a light, warm breeze passing through their open windows, rustling the white curtains. He turned on a light in the living room, placing the tree and Christmas items on the wooden table against the wall. 

He looked at the clock in the VCR inside the television stand. 6:29 in the afternoon. 

James glanced at his bandaged hand. “I’ll be back in time to help,” Lars said, and Lars wasn’t there. Lars was late again.

Picking up the box of tiny candy canes, James sat down on the chair, faced the table and went to work. 

He took his time decorating the small plastic tree. A few candy canes here, some small bulbs there. He fixed the reds, golds and silvers so they weren’t all bunched together, or there were too many colors on one side and not the other. 

The gold ribbons proved too big as he initially thought, and he pushed away from the table to find some scissors—

A door slammed open. “Fuck!” Something toppled onto the ground. 

James watched a mango roll past the living room, down the hallway. 

“Fucker. Ugh. James? James, you in?” More rustling. The door slammed shut. Lars grunted, and said louder, “Hey James, are you here? Hello? Jaaames?”

He stayed sitting and watched Lars hobble into the living room, carrying two big bags in his arms, and a big plastic bag on each elbow. Lars dumped them onto the floor with a big groan, instantly snapping up and placing a hand on his lower back. 

“For _heldve_ that was heavy. So, how was your…” 

When Lars’s eyes met his, Lars’s initial smile disappeared—and Lars’s attention went to the table, his mouth opening in surprise. 

James looked away, down to the floor. 

He watched Lars’s feet step over the bags, coming closer to him. 

From the corner of his vision, he saw Lars pick up the ends of the gold ribbons. They slid out of his palm. 

That hand touched his arm—the burned arm. It slid down to the bandages. 

“I’m sorry I’m late,” Lars said, close to his ear. 

James nodded. 

“Did you change them yet?”

He shook his head no.

Lars’s fingers went to his, curling around them. “Come on.” He pulled him up.

In the bathroom, James sat on the toilet, while Lars knelt on the floor as per usual, cleaning and rubbing in medicine to his burned hand. James watched him work in silence, the sounds of his grunts and Lars’s soft “sorry” the only sound in the room.

While finishing up the bandages, Lars said, in a soft voice, “I like your tree.”

He looked right at Lars. “Yeah?”

Lars flicked his eyes up. His lips curled into a smile. “Yeah. It’s really nice.” That smile waned a little, as his eyes turned downcast, fingers finishing up the bandages. “I’m sorry I couldn’t help.”

James waited until Lars fixed his brace back over his hand to mumble, “It’s not done.”

Lars glanced up again. “Uh?”

“I didn’t finish it. The ribbons…”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” He swallowed hard, fidgeted on the seat, cleared his throat. “So.” His attention turned to their hands—Lars’s hand on his braced, burned hand—and he whispered out, “Do you…?”

Lars’s hand slid down the brace, curling his fingers over his. “I’d love to, James.”

He looked up and found Lars smiling at him. James squeezed Lars’s fingers in his and smiled back. 

They sat side by side at the table, fixing the gold ribbon around the tree, mindful of the bulbs and candy canes. James situated the tiny gold star on top, while Lars drew on a piece of paper a quick Danish flag, and cut it out just as quick, placing it between a few branches. 

“There,” Lars said, leaning back into his chair. “Now it’s a real juletræ.”

“Yule-what?”

“Juletræ. That’s how we say Christmas tree in Danish.”

“Ah.”

“And it’s not a real Christmas tree unless there’s a Danish flag in it.” 

James chuckled and shook his head, pushing out of his chair. When Lars followed suit, he leaned over, kissed his cheek, and whispered, “Merry Christmas, Lars.”

He felt something warm inside at the sight of Lars’s pink cheeks and wide eyes staring up at him. It grew when Lars smiled and lifted a hand to his chest, laying the palm over his heart. “Glædelig jul, min skat.”

Lars pushed up onto his tip-toes as James dipped his neck down. Their lips met in a brief kiss that lingered when they parted. 

Together, they gathered up the goodies and presents Lars bought for family, friends and for James and took them all into their bedroom.


End file.
